Alarm clocks are… alarming

Ever read a book where the protagonist wakes up with a start when the alarm goes off? Or ever read when the alarm doesn’t go off and because it didn’t, all hell breaks loose?

In a story, alarm clocks signals a start of something, the change in a scene, or just a reference that time has moved on.

In fiction writing, I’ve used alarm clocks and the incessant beeps once or twice.

But I’m here to talk about reality.

I’ve often wondered about the benefits of alarm clocks and why people use it.

To be truthful, I’ve never used an alarm in my life. (Not really never, but almost doesn’t really count, right?).

It may be a hereditary thing, or just the way I was brought up. My parents never – or almost – never used alarms in their lives before. And no, they didn’t always miss their appointments; we (the kids) were never late to school.

I wake up every day (on week days) between 5:10 and 5:30 am without the assistance of a watch. I may wake a few minutes before that, or a few minutes late, but that twenty minute window is when I wake up 90% of the time – weekends are different, of course.

I don’t mean we have something extra; it’s just the way people are. You know when you’re used to waking up at a specific time every day? Suppose you turn off that alarm, even if you wake up late, you won’t miss that timeframe by much. You’ll moan and groan and try to cover your head and go back to sleep, but no matter how much you wish for it, sleep will never come.

In the beginning of this year, my oldest, 11 years old, decided that he wanted to start waking up on his own. Because he still doesn’t have control of his “inner alarm”, he decided he needed to turn on his physical, very loud alarm.

And every morning, at 5:00 his alarm would go off. I’d wake up with a start, disoriented, break out a cold sweat,  and stumble blindly (pun intended), heart pounding in the froze of a pre-attack and search his room for the ringing device among the piles of clothes, candy wrappers and weird gadgets. And my son would go on, peacefully sleeping, unaware of the end of the world.

Now he’s twelve, and he thinks he’s old enough to wake up on his own. This time around, he came up with a plan. He read about this clock that jumps off the nightstand and runs away when the alarms rings, banging into furniture and bouncing in opposite directions. To turn it off, you have to catch the thing first.

Hmmm, I don’t think so.

Have you ever heard about “Clocky” before? Out of curiosity, I did a search on it and found it sells on Amazon – and comes with free shipping. I wouldn’t get one even if I was paid to take it!

How do you feel about alarm clocks? Do you depend on them or is your inner alarm reliable?

 

Did you know – Settings matter to creativity

How Do You Write?

 

Can your surroundings affect the quality of your writing?

If you asked me this a while back, my answer would have been, not for me.

A lot of writers prefer to write in the quiet, where there’s no sound or no one to break their focus. Imagine a swing in the backyard under the moon, a quiet bedroom in  an empty house, the bleached sands of a vacant beach, nothing but the soothing sound of lapping waves and seagulls. Imagine yourself there, your notebook on hand – or laptop. Your muse is content, creative and inspired.

Now imagine a busy cafe, a house full of guests and family members, a bench in the park full of screeching kids… and yourself sitting among them, a notebook on hand (or laptop). Can your muse work in the same capacity in both scenarios?

Does the quiet make you contemplative and solemn? Does the noise irritate you?

, Some writers would rather write while alone, but they still need quiet music, the strings of a classic playing in the background. Some prefer the thump of rock music, or the haunting lyrics of a love song – yet they still require complete solitude.

My muse is a contradictory creature. I enjoy writing at night – late enough that everything is quiet save for the sound of my laptop, but I’ve never seen a difference between my night  time creativity and the day time ones.

In fact, back until a month ago, I thought I had no problem with a full house and running kids, the sound of loud tv or thumping music. I never considered that my writing may be affected by the noise. In a way, I guess I was right – I did publish The first book in the Roxanne Fosch trilogy, along with a short story. And I did draft the second book in the trilogy as well.

I’ve read that some writers need the noise and the smells of a busy venue, the traffic of strangers as stimulants for better creativity. Up until last month, I had thought I was one of these people too. But now that the kids are all in school and, for the first time in six years,  I have my mornings all to myself… I wonder, had I always needed the quiet for better productivity, or was I only in need of a change? My creativity is running at full speed, my productivity… let’s just say I accomplish a lot in the span of two quiet hours, much more than I’m able to do when there are kids around and my focus keeps shifting to household matters.

And you may be thinking, who cares, as long as the words are flowing…. And you’re right. But it’s good to know what makes your muse sing, don’t you think?

How do you write?

Do you need complete silence, music, or do you rather write surrounded by people you don’t know?

Malpractice or business competition?

About two weeks ago, my four year old got injured while playing outside. He got hit with a stick to the face. It cut the bridge of his nose and beneath his left eyebrow. When two hours passed and he still had difficulty opening his eye, I called the ophthalmologist (we will call him Doctor X) and booked an emergency appointment half an hour later. Since it’d be harder on my mom to take me (I’m blind) and my son together, I stayed home with the other kids while she took my four year old to see Doctor X.

It turned out that the cornea was scratched and Doctor X applied an ointment, covered the eye with a patch and prescribed an eye drop.

Two days later and my son’s eye was irritated and red and he complained that it hurt. So back to the clinic. Again I stayed home while my mother took my son in. This time Doctor X said there was a splinter stuck to the cornea and that my son would need to undergo a light surgery-like procedure.

So The procedure?

  • My son would need to fast six hours,
  • he’d be sedated,
  • and the doctor would extricate the splinter.

Now, I’m no novice to eye treatment, I’ve had all kinds of procedures, laser treatment and surgeries. So while Doctor X is explaining to my mother what would happen, my mother called me and let me talk to him. I asked Doctor X if he was going to pluck the splinter out with tweezers, cover it up for a few hours or a day and treat the injury with eye drops. He said no, there will be a small incision and stitches afterwards.

I thought that was weird, but novice or no, I’m still no expert. But I remembered that a few years ago I had some stitches come loose – leftovers from an eye surgery – and it felt like I had something poking my eye. My ophthalmologist at the time, a Dutch professor who had been working here for a few years, told me she’d need to cut the loose thread and pluck it out. She used an anesthetic eyedrop before she cut and plugged the loose thread out. All I felt was a small pinch and it was over in less than fifteen seconds.

Now, I understand a four year old would never stay put for that long while the doctor plucked out a splinter from his cornea, so I get the part where he’d need to be sedated. But the anesthesiologist  was only available after 3pm and my son had to be fasting for six hours. No drink, no food. Did you hear the part where I said he’s a four year old? And I was by no means agreeing to the incision part.

So I did the next thing I could: I told my mom to go to another ophthalmologist – we will call him Doctor Y.

Doctor Y, who’s the owner of his clinic,  examined my son’s eye, confirmed that the cornea was scratched, but said there was no splinter.

What?

My mom told him, of course, to check again. So he did. When my mom insisted that he be thorough, He took photos. Then he cleaned the eye with some special pad and Doctor Y informed my mom that there had been a small hair in the eye, but that he’d taken it out when he cleaned it.

Doctor Y changed the eye drop – my son said the previous one burned – shook his head in lament at Doctor X, and marked an appointment for two days later.

Two days later, Doctor Y said the eye was better and that instead of using the eye drop he prescribed (which burned as well) every two hours, to start using it every four hours, and marked another appointment for the following week.

On the following week, Doctor Y says that most of the scratch has healed, except for one small point. And that in this small point, an eyelash was stuck and that if only my son stayed still for one minute, he could pluck it out.

Of course, when a four year old sees tweezers that look a lot like a long needle approaching his eye, his instinct is to scream and fight.

So, because the eyelash had to go so the eye could heal without causing any inflammation, Doctor Y who had scoffed at Doctor X for suggesting a surgery-like procedure to remove the ‘splinter’, now informed my mother that it would be better to sedate my son so that the hair could be removed.

What did Doctor Y tell my mother would happen in this procedure?

  • My son would need to fast for six hours
  • My son would be lightly sedated
  • Doctor Y would pluck out the small hair stuck to the cornea – no incision or stitches needed.

Now, Doctor Y promised that this hair hadn’t been there before and seemed genuinely sorry for the procedure my son would need to endure.

Only, the appointment was set for 4 in the afternoon. When it was pointed out my son was only four and that it’s hard to make a four year old fast, the doctor said, give him a good breakfast before ten in the morning and let him drink small sips of water until two in the afternoon. My mother asked to be present during the procedure, but Doctor Y said she wasn’t allowed in the OR.

So this time around, I decided I was going with my mother and my son. At five, not four, the nurse called my son’s name and in we went. The doctor who was going to do the procedure was not Doctor Y, but Doctor Z, a resident ophthalmologist in a nearby hospital, but who came to Doctor Y’s clinic every Thursdays for scheduled surgeries.

Doctor Z saw my panicked, screaming son holding me in a chokehold, realized I was blind, and allowed me to be present during the procedure.

They helped me into the OR, and let me hold my son while they gave him a light sedative intravenous. The plan was to pluck out the ‘hair’ while my son was relaxed, but the moment Doctor Z placed my son on the bed and stood over him, my son started screaming again – no matter that he was half sedated. So the anesthesiologist   added more sedative and soon my son was asleep. I sat beside my baby, massaging his leg while Doctor Z looked into my sons’ eye.

He asked, “he was hit with wood?”

I said yes. A stick.

And Doctor Z said there were two splinters in my son’s cornea, one longer than the other.

I didn’t say anything, but inwardly, I wondered if Doctor Y was in the OR with us and if he had heard what Doctor Z had said.

While we waited for my son to wake  in the next room, I told my mom that Doctor Z said it was no hair, but that it was a splinter and that Doctor X had been right. Either Doctor Y had lied about there not being anything in the two times he examined my son, or he hadn’t seen it. But then, it’s hard to believe he hadn’t seen the splinter, given he had taken photos of the eye when my mom asked him to make sure.

Was Doctor X a better choice then? I don’t think so. Doctor X explained the exorbitant cost to the procedure by explaining the need of an incision and stitches, while  Doctor Z needed no incision or stitches and he did pluck the splinters with long medical tweezers and sent my baby home.

Doctor Y, on the other hand, is the owner of the clinic and may have lied so that I would do the procedure in his clinic.

The thing is – and it’s an irony –  the cost of the procedure in Doctor Y’s clinic was ¼ of the price that Doctor X asked for, and if Doctor Y had told me on day one that there was a splinter indeed, I’d have done the procedure in his clinic anyway.
So I ask again, malpractice or business competition?

 

Kid logic – it makes sense

And when he looked, he discovered the moon

The other night my son ran up to his grandmother and told her there was a light chasing him around.
Naturally, she thought it was lightening bugs – because, what else?
But she obliged, and she went to check on it. Instead of searching around the bushes, my son pointed up to the sky.
‘See, it’s waiting for me still.’ He said.
My mom told him that the moon is everywhere, that it goes where everyone goes, chases everyone.
My son thought about it for a second then shook his head. ‘Nah uh, (insert cousin’s name here) ran to the back of the house and the moon didn’t go. It’s waiting for me so it can chase me’.

Correcting misunderstanding part II

I was going to post today something completely different, but as this topic was brought to my attention three times in the past few days, I decided to address this one first.
A few days ago I posted a post about correcting misunderstandings and the lack of confidence when a person tries to explain something.
Well, as I’ve received three e-mails from fellow bloggers inquiring if they were the reason I wrote that, I decided to come on here and clarify – correct a misunderstanding.

As those of you who have been following me for a while know, I have a son who likes to climb trees. He’s four – or will be in a few days, and he’s a pro monkey.
I also have a neighbor who thinks I’m not apt to be a mother because I’m blind.

So, like I do most days, the other day I let my son play outside while I cleaned my kitchen. Like some of you already know, my kitchen window faces the tree my son likes to climb, so while he’s out there playing, I can hear him. But instead of climbing that tree, my son climbed the fig tree, which is covered with slippery moss.
He fell, scraped his hands and knees.
I didn’t take him inside, afraid that someone would notice he fell, but I stayed with him outside while he cried, hugged and kissed him. His hands and knees weren’t wet with blood, so it was really nothing but a few scrapes.
And of course my neighbor saw that.
I owe her no explanations, and if my son fell off the tree it was not because I’m blind and can’t tell his whereabouts.
But as I was checking on his sister in the living room when he fell, I couldn’t tell he had moved from tree to tree.
I believe not even someone who could see would have been able to tell, seeing that the living room is on the other side of the house.
It was my reply, the way I defended myself to my neighbor that bothered me. My son has been climbing trees since last summer, and although he did fall a few times, like the other day, it was nothing serious. Who has never scraped his knees and hands when playing?
I’ve been climbing trees since I was a youngling as well, and I’ve had my share of falls and adventures stuck on a tree while waiting for someone big enough to help me climb down.
My mother was never judged for that, and I don’t believe there’s anything wrong with letting your child play and explore what he likes to do.
My son was back on the tree within half an hour – the one facing the kitchen window, and I let him, confident that he knows how to climb up and down without any assistance. At least now he knows that fig tree is too slippery, and hopefully he has learned a lesson. Knowing him, I’m sure he’ll try again, because he’s the type who will keep after something until he can get it.

So, fellow bloggers, I was not talking about any of you, and this is not a continuation of a comment I left in anyone’s post.
I apologize if I made anyone uncomfortable with it, and trust me, if I had anything to say to a post, I would either leave a comment or drop you an e-mail.
If I don’t like what I read, I simply don’t leave a comment and I move on – and now you’re wondering about the lack of a comment, which could also mean I simply have nothing to say.

Creepy eight leggers

Little buggers might have been helping me

Every now and then, my kids will enter my room and play there.
Under the bed, inside the closet, on my exercise/clothe hanger bycicle, atop the dresser.
I usually let them if it’s too cold for them to go out- it’s easier to clean up one room then an entire house full of toys. Right?
Every now and then, my kids will shout to me they found a bug.
Now, a bug to my kids could be anything from a small ant to a small sized snake.
Because there are bugs and snakes that even small can be dangerous, whenever they tell me there’s a bug, I send someone to check. Most often than not, the bug is a mere tiny ant. And no, no one ever found a snake in my room, not even in the summer when my kids would leave the screen of the windows open.
Last night, after the hurricane left my room, I entered to clean it. While I was doing so, I did something I haven’t done in ages: I brushed the broom to the ceiling, to the corners.
And it rained spiders on me.
Alright, they were only a few, but their legs were creepy long.
Now, imagine having spiders crawling over you while you can’t see them and find out how many were there?
I’ll spare you of my mad dance around.
Did I ever tell I’m afraid of spiders?
Yes? It’s a phobia I’ve had ever since I was a little kid and watched the ‘arachnophobia’ movie – a movie were giant spiders ate an entire town (those movies should be banned).
My eldest son, an eleven year old with a big chip on his shoulder, checked the spiders and informed me the webs were full of mosquitoes, that perhaps I should leave them be since I’ve been complaining about the mosquitoes keeping me awake at night for so long – it’s January for God’s sake, shouldn’t they (the mosquitoes) go hibernate somewhere warm?
Of course I took all the spiders down – or let my son do it for me – since I wouldn’t be able to sleep at all knowing they were watching me sleep.
So. Creepy.
So now I have a spotless bedroom, spider free, though I’m not sure if I just made it a free mosquito zone. We’ll see.